


Reiterate

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Shoujo Kakumei Utena | Revolutionary Girl Utena
Genre: Childhood Memories, Established Relationship, Kissing, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Power Dynamics, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-09 07:17:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17997341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Kyouichi has a decade and more experience of loss, of having his unwilling surrender dragged from him by the blow of Touga’s shinai and the focus of those eyes; and yet it has never grown any easier, any more than his intent to win each match has eased." Kyouichi finally lays claim to what he's been seeking for the whole of his relationship with Touga.





	Reiterate

The lighting in the dojo is dim with the door closed.

Kyouichi is used to the stripe of light spilling in from outside, the illumination of daylight glowing in his periphery to catch and glimmer against the sweep of Touga’s hair or to sparkle and blind at the corner of his own eyes. He has learned to turn to keep the sun at his back, to orient himself to take advantage of the light silhouetting him into the outline of his actual presence; not that it wins him any true advantage from the curve of Touga’s smile and the steady weight of dark eyes that seem to track every motion Kyouichi makes as much as they linger in the appreciation of his presence. Kyouichi’s thoughts slide slippery under Touga’s gaze, dragging themselves free of his hold as surely as his grip on his shinai trembles with uncertainty, and it’s inevitably then that Touga steps forward to press his advantage, to hold his position and lay claim to Kyouichi’s by extension before victory drops into his outstretched hand as if an apple waiting the order to fall to his palm. Kyouichi has a decade and more experience of loss, of having his unwilling surrender dragged from him by the blow of Touga’s shinai and the focus of those eyes; and yet it has never grown any easier, any more than his intent to win each match has eased. Kyouichi throws himself into each bout with full determination to claim victory for himself, to seize hold of that triumph that has always refused to linger in the span of his grip, and every time he watches it bleed free with as much heartsick pain as the first loss, when Touga’s honed skill decimated his own clumsy attempts to drop him to his knees.

Kyouichi knows how to lose, with grace and without it, with the calm of a bowed head and the gritted-teeth ire of a poor sportsman alike. Now, with the thrum of newfound victory still chasing vibration up his arm and into the span of his chest, he must learn how best to win.

Touga’s hair is soft under his palms, spilling like liquid silk across the reach of Kyouichi’s desperate hands. They  _ are _ desperate, even now, after more than enough experience of holding to this one thing, at least, that slipped and slipped and finally dropped into Kyouichi’s lap when he had given up all expectation of truly having it. It seems strange to have that lifeblood color against his hands, to have the full weight of it winding over his wrists and falling like a waterfall made static from the grip of his fingers, but stranger still is the huff of soft at Kyouichi’s ear, the shudder of amusement stripped of all the razor edge that once was there and down to something so simple it seems almost childlike, as if time has unwound to bear them back to the place where they began, to mend all their scars by the undoing instead of the rough, imperfect process of time’s healing.

“You’re slower than I thought you would be.” There might be judgment there, at other lips, on other days. With the unfamiliar soft of surrender on Touga’s tongue they sound like an observation instead, as if he’s marveling at the truth of Kyouichi’s presence, as if there might be something worth seeing in what has only ever been blacked out into shadow before. “I always thought you would rush into winning, when you had it.”

Kyouichi has known Touga too long to set aside the hint of teeth beneath those words; Kyouichi has carried his hurt too long to easily cast it down. The time that has rolled itself back from Touga’s tone spills down his own throat, too, pressing him back by a handful of years to unravel whatever mature composure he has invented for himself, to tear aside the mask of adulthood he has laid over scowling features and draw his thoughts to familiar bitterness as his fingers twist into fists in Touga’s long hair, as instinct tries to lay claim to what he has never been able to hold to by force. “I suppose disappointment is inevitable,” he says, and it’s his younger self at his lips, spitting words into the blows that he can never land by force, that always seem as toothless on his tongue as he feels in his body. “I never can live up to your standards.”

Touga’s laugh is startlingly loud, spilling out to spread itself into the farthest shadows of the dojo while Kyouichi’s head remains ducked forward to hide his face behind the tangled curls of his hair. “I don’t mean it’s a disappointment, of course.” His tone makes the statement all but unnecessary, an obvious fact that should barely require the clarity of words to be known; it’s the tone of a man who has always known himself to be superior in every fiber of his being as Kyouichi has known himself to be second-rate, to be no more than a pale imitation of the life that Touga exemplifies, the presence and confidence that the other seems to bear as easily as he draws breath for his lungs. “I’m just surprised.” A hand comes up, long fingers wander themselves into Kyouichi’s hair with as much grace as if the wild curls were made to form around them. “You do manage that quite often, at least.”

Kyouichi looks up through the shade of his hair to Touga’s face. Touga’s gaze is following his fingers, trailing through the waves of Kyouichi’s hair with a bemused smile against the shape of his lips as if he’s exploring their pattern for the first time, or maybe truly noticing it only just now, after all those years of half-watching and turning aside. Kyouichi’s throat tightens, clenching hard until even he can’t make a guess as to whether it’s pain or desire stifling his breath, and when he leans in he moves with force to cross the distance to Touga sitting at the dojo floor where Kyouichi’s victory bore them down together. Touga’s mouth is still soft when Kyouichi presses his lips to the others’, the shape of his smile is still lingering under the force of Kyouichi’s lips, but Kyouichi doesn’t pause to let Touga collect himself or to reclaim the implicit control that Touga surrenders so easily, that Kyouichi finds so hard to hold for himself. He demands capitulation at once, with the fist of his hold in Touga’s hair and the urging of his mouth against Touga’s own, and when Touga’s lips part in surrender or surprise Kyouichi takes more as readily, acting with a greedy haste that leaves no space for even the shadow of years-old insecurities to worm their way into his attention. He licks into Touga’s mouth, demanding surrender as he bears Touga back against the restraint of his hand at the back of the other’s head, and when Touga’s balance goes Kyouichi follows him down to bear him flat to the floor of the dojo beneath them. Touga’s hand falls to Kyouichi’s shoulder to brace himself, Touga makes a low sound in the back of his throat, and Kyouichi pins him down and lets the ache of desire in him fret itself to something like relief against the resistance of Touga’s body beneath his.

It does spend itself, eventually; or perhaps it is just that Kyouichi runs out of strength, that the exertion of their sparring gets the better of him and steals his breath from his control before he has yet reached the limit of his pent-up desire. When he finds himself aware again he’s still leaning in over Touga on the dojo floor beneath him, one hand curled in against the weight of the other’s hair and the other braced palm-down against the floor over Touga’s shoulder. Their legs are tangled together, Touga’s knee angled up to press between Kyouichi’s thighs more by accident than intent, but when Kyouichi blinks his gaze back into focus on Touga beneath him the shadows that have settled themselves in the look Touga turns up at him seem enough to strip away all the restraint of their clothes and location alike, as if he might be able to conjure the outline of a bed and the thick soft of sheets to catch them just for the slant of his lashes and the catch of his smile. Kyouichi stares at him, his mouth set onto a frown that he doesn’t even realize he’s forming before he blinks hard and makes himself ease his fingers in Touga’s hair.

“Sorry,” he says, with a harsh enough edge on his tone to break apart any seeming of the sincerity that is clutching at his chest like a fist. Touga’s hair spills from his grip to fan around the other’s head in a sweep of scarlet like rose petals scattered across those imagined bedsheets. “I didn’t mean to push you.”

Touga’s lashes dip. It’s just once, the single motion of a blink flickering across his face, but the relaxation of his features is enough to unravel the whole illusion of the moment and draw them back to the present, Kyouichi leaning in over Touga on a dojo floor while Touga gazes up at him with more shock than alarm behind his eyes. Kyouichi grimaces and pushes back to free Touga from the shadow-formed cage of his hair falling forward and around the other’s face; when he rocks back onto his knees Touga slides an arm back to brace an elbow beneath himself so he can push up and watch the other. Even that motion is elegant, from the flex of his shoulder under his clothes to the spill of his hair collecting to tumble down his back; it’s only the focus in his eyes that undoes the image of seduction, and even that is more surprised than upset. Kyouichi turns away and lifts his hands to pull at his ponytail so he can draw the stray locks of his hair back up and into the tie sweeping them off his shoulders. His mouth is burning with the taste of Touga’s lips, as if he’s caught the flame of the other’s hair against his tongue, and he can’t trust his throat to work itself to the clarity of speech with that heat trapped in his chest.

There’s a rustle of fabric, the shift of shadows in the dim space as Touga pushes to sit up entirely. His knee draws free of its angle between Kyouichi’s legs; out of the corner of his eye Kyouichi can see Touga lean in to brace his elbow against the same, to make a pillow of his angled arm that he can rest his head against as he draws a deliberate breath. “I didn’t expect you to be such a romantic.”

Kyouichi’s face heats, his cheeks burn into a flush so stark it aches pain under his skin. “So what,” he says, and drags his hair through the pull of the elastic with force enough to tug sharply against his scalp. “Even you don’t know everything.”

The touch against Kyouichi’s overhot cheek is as startling as a blow, perhaps the more so for how deliberately gentle it is. Kyouichi freezes, locked in place by the weight of a pair of fingers ghosting against his cheek; even his hands go still, trapped halfway through the process of tying his hair up at the back of his head. Touga doesn’t pull away; he leans in, rather, pressing closer to Kyouichi startled into motionless shock before him. A third finger skims Kyouichi’s jaw, Touga’s touch slips down as if to draw over the cusp and wander across the rhythm of the other’s pulse in his throat, but instead of the friction of his fingers brushing down Touga leans in instead, crossing the distance between them to touch his lips to the corner of Kyouichi’s. It’s a delicate contact, chaste and almost shy, as if it’s their first all over again; as if they are children once more, returned to a long-since squandered innocence by the touch of fingertips to skin. Kyouichi’s breath tumbles past his lips, spending itself in a huff of shock that he cannot even think to restrain, but Touga just lingers for a heartbeat before drawing away, rocking back from the weight of his lips on Kyouichi’s skin before easing his touch away as well so he can brace his palm at the floor of the dojo and press to get to his feet.

“We’ve been out here a while,” he says, as evenly as if nothing has happened at all. “We should wash and change.” He lifts his hand to push his hair back from his face, tipping his chin up to make a show of the gesture, but when he looks back down it’s to offer his outstretched hand to Kyouichi at the floor. “Come in with me, Kyouichi.”

Kyouichi’s face heats again, radiance rising beneath his skin in answer to Touga’s words even with the casual tone with which the other offers them; but Touga’s cheeks are flushed too, colored dark enough that Kyouichi can see the shade of them even in the low lighting of the space. Touga’s mouth shifts, pulling towards a smile like he’s trying on the shape of it, but his hand stays outstretched, even with Kyouichi’s lack of response to the same. Kyouichi looks, and frowns, and hesitates; and then he lets his hands fall from his struggles with his hair, and reaches up to clasp his hand around Touga’s offered grip. Touga’s fingers tighten around Kyouichi’s wrist, his grasp steady but gentler than Kyouichi expected; when he pulls Kyouichi to his feet the other’s hair slides free outright to tumble around his shoulders in a tangle of unkempt curls. Kyouichi lifts a hand to push the weight of it back over his shoulder, and frowns at the catch of his fingers in the strands, but when Touga steps forward to slide the door open and lead him outside, Kyouichi leaves his hair to fall loose across his back, and lets himself be urged by the clasp of the other’s hand warm against the memory of childhood bruises.


End file.
